


Home

by FanficsbyVe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficsbyVe/pseuds/FanficsbyVe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If one knows what a soul is, can one perhaps save the soulless? One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I wrote a gratuitous, shameless wish-fulfillment fic of Undertale because my boyfriend and I can't get over Asriel feels. Fight me.

What makes a soul?

Even now, scientists below and on the surface are not yet certain. Even after years of research, tests and experiments, no one has gotten any closer to the truth. The truth of what exactly makes humans and monsters, as well as every living being on the planet, what they are.

Some say the soul is a spark of sorts. Like an ember that starts a flame, so too does a soul power the body. Others say it is the culmination of one’s entire being. The ethereal part of the living that can be cleansed or corrupted based on what the body does. Those are the common theories, but there are also others with more controversial views.

What if a soul is perhaps not otherworldly or a construct needed to live on? What if a soul is perhaps just a collection of memories? A bunch of events that define a person and that influenced their decisions and personality? Would that make the worth of a soul any less or possibly more?

If so, then what drives the soulless? Those devoid of this elusive construct? If the soul is a spark, then they are devoid of embers of life, yet they live. If the soul is ethereal, the body has nothing to corrupt or cleanse. That begs the question for those who believe the controversial. Are they without memories? 

Yet what if those memories are reawakened? What if someone came along to awaken memories of love, mercy or compassion within them? Could they in fact redefine something that is long gone? Could they perhaps fill what has become an empty vessel?

In a field of flowers, deep underground, something stirs. A forgotten creature left abandoned in deserted world. A being that should not be alive and resigned himself to stay alone with its memories. Something that should be left to whither but doesn’t. 

A wriggling sensation starts to take over his body as it reminisces. When he thinks of those who helped him remember before he reverted to this form and was left behind. The feeling that rapidly expands the more he thinks about them, the more thought he puts in all the people that made him happy and he can now recall. It expands to every corner of his being and soon, he can’t ignore it anymore. 

He tries to stop it. Not to think as that seems to drive the terrible force inside. Still, a hard as it tries, it does not work. The force has become too strong and by now, it’s spreading like wildfire. It fights and pushes, claws and rages almost as if it’s going to tear his corporal form apart. 

It almost seems that it does. He swears he can feel things twist and bend, his body snapping into previous impossible directions. It scares him beyond belief, but he is too horrified to scream or even try to fight it. It happens so fast that he can’t do anything but submit to rapid changes and hope that eventually, it will end.

He doesn’t even realize when the torment finally stops. At this point, he just wanders around, blinded by panic in no particular direction. He shivers madly, still moving despite feeling his body will give out at any moment. Yet the thought to stop and wonder what happened doesn’t occur to him. He wants to keep going, keep his mind of the one horrible reality at the forefront of his young mind.

He is alone and he is very, very afraid.

It is a rainy day in the world above. One of those typical days of autumn, where the world is dreary and wet. Humans hate it and try to navigate through as quickly as they can while shielding themselves with umbrellas and raincoats. 

Asgore Dreemurr’s smiling face is a stark contrast to the crowd. The King of Monsters doesn’t mind rain in the slightest. After all, after having lived underground for so long, any kind of downpour becomes a blessing. As such, a quick errand run to pick up some dinner through raindrops and falling leaves almost becomes a treat.

Snug under a bright red umbrella, he casually walks through the puddles and under overrunning awnings as he goes about his business. He picks up some beef here and some lettuce there, content to have a chat with the cashiers while they ring up their purchases. By the time he’s done shopping, he has a bag with enough food to make a feast and he hums a merry tune as he strides through the pouring rain to make his way back home, to his modest little apartment at the west side of town.

Suddenly, however, an odd little sight catches his eye. The gorgeous flowerbeds in the neighborhood, maintained by a bunch of kindly old neighbors enjoying their retirement, seem to have been trampled. A large flattened trail of flowers goes straight through the middle of the garden, only to end where a figure lies slumped over and motionless.

Asgore frowns. While he is upset at the lack of respect for his neighbors’ hard work, he can see it’s a child even from where he stands. A very young kid too, so likely not one who has been drinking or using other stuff that caused it to do something this foolish. That makes the fact it’s lying there facedown very alarming and being a naturally kind person, he decides to investigate.

Holding his umbrella close, he carefully approaches. Doing his best not to damage the remaining flowers with his hulking frame, he toes over. He crouches down when he reaches the child, sets the groceries aside and takes hold of his shoulder, shaking it gently.

“Hey. Hey kid, are you okay?”

He gets no response and that is enough to worry him all over again. He nudges the child, a little monster boy apparently, again with the same lack of result. Now convinced something bad must have happened to him, Asgore decides to take action. He quickly takes his cellphone out of his pocket, meanwhile rolling the little boy onto his back. 

The electronic device nearly drops out of his hands when he glimpses the child’s face. He only barely catches it before it hits the dirt, his hand moving on reflex as he can only stare at the little boy. His entire body trembles and his throat feels dry as he struggles to breathe.

“N-no… I-it cant be.”

For a moment, his mind goes blank, only to then swiftly descend into chaos. Raw adrenaline pumps through his veins and he finds himself trying to do a million things at once but not succeeding at any of them. What should he do anyway? What does someone do when faced with this?

By a shred of collectiveness Asgore can hardly even detect himself, he eventually puts away his phone and scoops up the boy with one arm, using his other to hold the groceries and umbrella. He doesn’t care about the awkward position or the fact he’s quickly becoming soaking wet. All he cares about right now is one thing. To get home and make a call.

He practically bursts through the door of his apartment. He chucks the groceries back onto the nearest table, not caring for one moment that food is flying everywhere. Without delay, he rushes to the couch and carefully positions the boy on it, putting his head on the pillow and placing the blanket on the armrest over him. Only now, he finally reaches for his phone, dialing the one number he knows by heart. 

“Good afternoon, this is Toriel speaking.”

“T-Tori? It’s me, Asgore.”

“Asgore? Is something wrong? You sound really upset.”

The former King of the Underground is now gladder than ever that his relationship with his ex-wife has improved considerably. They’re more or less on good terms again and talk regularly of their own volition. She sounds concerned and that likely means she’ll listen to him. That’s what he needs right now. He needs someone who can think straight in a time of crisis.

“You need to come to my place. Right now.”

A short silence follows. “Why? What’s going on?”

The male monster starts rattling before he knows it. “I d-don’t think you’d believe me if I told you on the phone! Please, just... Just come over here. I promise it’s something serious! Please, just get here as soon as you can!”

Again, there is silence and Asgore is certain he messed up until she finally, mercifully, responds. “Okay then… I’ll be here in five minutes. Sit tight.”

With those words, she hangs up and he feels calmer now, if only a little. Knowing he will have to pass the time until Toriel arrives, he decides to make the best of it. He takes a deep breath and walks back over to the couch to inspect his surprise guest. 

Only now does it occur to him that the little boy is still breathing. That is good, very good, but the question remains if he will continue to do that. Asgore has no idea how long he has been lying there in the flower bed, alone and unconscious in the pouring rain. He might have caught hypothermia or a fever or even pneumonia. And in his state, how well could his little body fight that off?

The male monster sits down on the edge of the couch, biting his lip as he looks over the child and takes his hand. His own hand still shakes and he can feel tears at the corners of his eyes. This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense at all. 

“Where did you come from?”

It seems to take forever before Toriel finally arrives. The moment Asgore hears the door to his home open, he jumps off the couch and runs up to her. He only barely keeps himself from putting his arms around her and holding her tight. She seems to notice his panicked state and gives him an apprehensive look.

“So what’s going on?”

He doesn’t bother to talk. He knows he will only sound completely insane if he does. So instead, he grabs hold of her hand and drags her to the living room. He ignores her protests and brings her to the couch, frantically pointing at the little child that lies on it.

Within seconds of beholding the sight, Toriel freezes over. Her eyes become large as they become fixated on the little boy. Her jaw hangs open and half-smothered noises come out. It takes several long, agonizing moments before she finally finds the strength to turn to him and her voice is a blend of shock, anger and confusion.

“Asgore, is this a joke? It’s not funny!”

He responds, sounding way angrier than he wants to. “You really think I’d set up a joke like that, Tori? No, I found him unconscious in the flowerbed near my home in the rain! I…I didn’t know what to think…or do! So I brought him here! I panicked, so I called you!”

Whatever else he wants to say is quickly silenced by his ex-wife’s matter of fact voice. “You should call the hospital.” 

“What?”

Toriel gives him a frustrated look. “The hospital. Who knows how long he’s been out there in this terrible weather? We have to make sure he’s okay!”

“O-oh! R-right. Right.”

Jerked into pragmatic reality, Asgore quickly gets his phone and after a quick search on his laptop, dials the number. He is surprised that he manages to convey the needed information so comprehensibly, despite feeling like a headless chicken or however it is humans call a frantic state. In the meantime, he glances at his ex-wife, who still stares at the boy with sadness and disbelief. She too doesn’t dare to believe it…

An ambulance arrives in minutes. The EMTs ask a million questions as they check their little patient over and he is happy to let the much more composed Toriel do the talking. While their story is undoubtedly strange, their supervisor thankfully takes it in stride. He tells them that the child is running a fever, but suffers nothing critical and they will take him to the hospital for observation just in case.

They watch how the unconscious boy is carried away on a stretcher. For a moment, they stand there together in silence. A look in the eye tells them all they need to know. They both are afraid to even consider the possibility…

He breaks the silence first, much to his own surprise. “Take my car to the hospital?”

Even now, he feels warm all over as she smiles through held back tears. “Yes. Yes, we should.”

Warm…

It’s so comfortable and warm. 

That’s the first change he notices as he starts regaining consciousness. He is in some place that’s dry, soft and seems to actually produce pleasant heat. It’s definitely a lot better than before. The last thing he remembers after his grueling ordeal is cold and rain.

He leans back into the wonderful softness. It’s amazing, like being wrapped into a secure little cocoon. What was the last time he felt like that? Safe and sound in perfect peace, not angry or bitter at all. He likes it already. Wherever he is, he wouldn’t mind staying forever.

The quiet, however, doesn’t last long. Soon, he hears voices all around. They sound like those of monsters and something tells him that they’re talking about him.

“So, you think it’s really him, Toriel?”

“I don’t know, Sans… I want to believe it, but…”

“We saw it back then with our own eyes. I really couldn’t think of any way that…”

“But it can happen! Just look at that wizard from Middle-Earth!”

“Those movies are not real, bro…”

“Well, he is the spitting image, boss! I’ll eat my eye patch if he isn’t!”

“That’s not very nutritious, Undyne.”

“It’s a manner of speech, Alphys.”

“Maybe he needs to eat something to wake up, so we can just ask him! I know, I’ll feed him spaghetti!”

The flood of strange voices puts his still groggy mind on edge. Just where exactly is he? For all he knows, he could be in danger. After all, no one liked him much last time he met other people, it seemed.

He forces himself to open his eyes and despite the heaviness of them, they widen instantly. The very first thing he sees, besides the blankets of a bed, is hands. _His_ hands.

Even in his tired state, he jerks and pulls them close to inspect them. He can’t remember the last time he even saw those. He thought those were gone when he crossed the barrier, when he stopped being himself. When he chose to stay in that field and resign to his fate. That thought stuns him. That means…

Only now, he looks up at the group of people surrounding him. They are indeed monsters, of all shapes and sizes. Once they notice he’s awake, they stop what they’re doing and turn to him. They all stare at him curiously and their looks make him nervous until he notices two monsters in specific among them.

He knows these two people. He knows them better than anyone else in the world. How could he not, now that he remembers? 

“D-dad? M-mom?”

One could hear a pin drop as he utters those words. His parents, he is certain they are, stare at him in sheer disbelief. They look like they’ve seen a ghost and then and there, he becomes frightened. Are they not happy to see him?

That question, however, is short-lived as they both speak at the same time. “Asriel?”

Asriel doesn’t even get to say anything else. Within seconds, his mother and father descend onto him. Their arms wrap around him as if they will never let go again and he struggles to breathe. They nuzzle his face from all sides and what comes next is a flood of joy and tears.

“It’s really you! I don’t believe it! How? What happened? How are you… We…we found your… H-how can this even be?”

He would happily answer all of their questions, even the ones with unhappy answers. After all, he probably owes them a apology for some of the things he did… Still, he cannot bring himself to do so right now. Someone else in the room has caught his eye and he can only stare in absolute glee.

“Frisk?”

The room goes back to silence when he calls out the name. Everyone, including his parents, stares at him and then at the human child. He can practically see the question marks above their head.

Frisk, however, simply shows a brief smile. The human child instantly approaches, seemingly happy as well. Asriel watches how his mother continues to stare at the both of them, before questioning the brown-haired child in wonder.

“You…know who he is?”

Frisk simply nods, before climbing onto the bed. The human practically crawls over to him. Asriel can feel the child’s curious gaze and tries his best to explain.

“I…I didn’t stay a flower…”

Frisk simply listens as he continues. “I remembered you…and everyone else… I remembered all the happiness and good memories and compassion… You _made_ me remember and then I stayed the same. Like…as if my soul came back…”

Those words make him pause for just a moment. Is that what actually happened? Did his soul really come back? He does notice the emptiness inside him is gone and his memories and old self have returned to him. He remembers Alphys tried to do that too, but failed. How did Frisk manage it then where a scientist could not?

Then, he realized what brought the change. The memories did. The memories that made him who he was. Once those came flooding back, he changed back and all Frisk had to do was find the switch. That thought baffles him. Maybe a living being isn’t necessarily made from its soul. Just maybe, the soul is also made from the living being… 

In the end, however, his young mind doesn’t want to think about it for too long. It doesn’t matter anyway. His nightmare is over. He is himself again, soul and all. Frisk brought him back and did everything he could to achieve it. That’s enough and all he can do is embrace his friend in the tightest hug he has ever given to anyone.

“You did it, Frisk. You really did it…”

The human child simply hugs him back and the young monster can feel a faint smile. It is the most wonderful feeling in the world besides the warm arms of his parents. It makes him feel safe and he cannot even remember the last time he felt that way. 

When Asriel can finally get himself to let go, he looks at the group. All of them seem touched, shedding tears that he feels running down his own cheeks as well. Those tears keep coming, even when he’s bombarded with questions on whether he’s hungry, cold, tired or needs a new set of clothes. As he wipes them away and they ask if he’s alright, he finds it in him to talk again. To say the one thing he never thought he could say ever again. So, he says it out loud, because he now can.

“I’m back… I’m finally home…”


End file.
